


and you're standing here beside me

by wholesome_gay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Insomnia, Lie Low At Lupin's (Harry Potter), Light Angst, M/M, Memories, POV Remus Lupin, Post-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24328543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholesome_gay/pseuds/wholesome_gay
Summary: Remus and Sirius are alone in an old cottage in the English countryside.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 24
Kudos: 154





	and you're standing here beside me

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you're all staying safe and sane. <3

Having Sirius in his home is disconcerting. It feels like a dream - not a bad one, but the kind that wakes Remus in the middle of the night and leaves him tossing and turning for hours, rolling it around in his head like a bit of sea glass.

Remus opens the front door to his ramshackle cottage, a paper bag of groceries in his arms. Sirius is on the sofa in the front room, reading a paperback from Remus’s collection. He doesn’t offer to help put away the food, and Remus doesn’t ask him to. They are still figuring out how to be around each other. The past week has been a quiet coexistence. Remus finds himself longing irrationally for the Sirius he knew, whose presence was loud even when he wasn’t talking. 

In the kitchen, Remus puts away the eggs, chicken, bread, beans, spinach, onions, and potatoes he’s bought. His refrigerator stopped functioning long ago, so he makes do with a potent cooling charm. He leans against the counter and wipes the sweat from his forehead. June is making itself known.

Even though he has lived alone in this place for years, it’s hard to remember what he did with his free time before Sirius got here. It’s hard to know what to do now that Sirius _is_ here.

Remus settles himself into the threadbare armchair adjacent to the sofa. “What are you reading?”

Sirius tilts the cover in Remus’s direction. _Jane Eyre._

“Ah. What part are you up to?”

“Her friend died in the night,” Sirius says.

In that case, Mr. Rochester is still a long way off. “Are you enjoying it so far?” Remus tries.

Sirius merely shrugs. 

On the night Sirius arrived - on Dumbledore’s orders, he emphasized - he told Remus what happened the night of the Triwizard Tournament in great detail, but since then, it’s been hard to get more than a few words out of him. Remus knows that Sirius is used to being alone, but he can’t help but think that if he could manage to say the right thing, he’d get Sirius talking again and they’d fall back into the conversational rhythm they used to have.

Remus is trying to figure out what’s left between them, after all that they have done to each other, and if it’s something that can grow.

* * *

When Remus gets home from work - a part-time job shelving books at the local Muggle library - Sirius is sitting at the kitchen table, quill in hand and parchment in front of him.

“Hello,” Remus says, hanging his bag on the hook by the door. 

Sirius nods once in acknowledgement, eyes not leaving the mostly blank parchment.

Remus sits in the chair across from him and unties his shoes. “What would you like for dinner?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Sirius was starving when he first arrived, but the past few days he hasn’t shown much of an interest in food.

Remus gets out the ingredients for chicken curry, which Sirius used to like. As he starts chopping up an onion, he hears a snap behind him.

Sirius’s arms are folded and the quill lays in two halves on the table.

“That was one of my good quills,” Remus says, tone intentionally mild. 

“I don’t know what to say to Harry, and I don’t see why _Dumbledore_ should decide what he can and can’t be told. He’s not Harry’s guardian. _He_ wasn’t there on the day Harry was born.”

Remus finds the outburst encouraging. He’ll take any emoting from Sirius right now, even if it’s negative. “I’m sure Harry is happy to hear from you even when you don’t have any news to share.”

Remus can tell by Sirius’s expression that he doesn’t agree. He turns back to the cutting board.

“Do you ever write to him?” Sirius asks.

Remus shakes his head. “I can’t imagine he’d be particularly excited to receive a letter from his former professor.”

“Just as down on yourself as you ever were.”

Remus frowns and formulates a retort. But when he turns around, Sirius is leaving the kitchen.

* * *

The first night, Remus urged Sirius to take the bed, but Sirius refused. “It’s already a great improvement to have a roof over my head, and I sleep better as a dog anyway.” Remus is certain that no matter where Sirius goes after this, he will never be able to look at the sofa without seeing his dark hair strewn across the cushions. There are a few strands of silver, visible only up close. The younger Sirius would have lamented; this Sirius avoids mirrors.

Remus lies awake, alone, in his own bed, wondering if Sirius is thinking of him too. Remembering what it was like to sleep with a warm body next to him - someone to hold. Something to anchor him.

It’s impossible not to think, now, of when Sirius said he loved him.

They were eighteen. No - he was eighteen and Sirius was nineteen. Remus had spent the night at Sirius’s flat and they were enjoying a lazy morning in bed. Remus had one arm around Sirius and Sirius was kissing his fingertips, one by one.

“I love you,” he said.

Remus did not say it back, even though he’d been in love with Sirius for years. He made up an excuse about having promised to have lunch with his parents, got dressed, and left. What he thought was: _he doesn’t love me. He’s lonely and I’m convenient._

Remus never said it back, and Sirius noticed. Sirius did not say it again.

Remus knows, now, that he was a coward. If he’d been more open with Sirius, maybe Sirius wouldn’t have stopped trusting him. Maybe Sirius would have told him that Peter was the Secret Keeper, or maybe he would have suggested Remus as the Secret Keeper; maybe James and Lily wouldn’t have died.

Or maybe nothing would be different. Remus knows better than to allow his thoughts to spiral like this, but he lets it happen anyway. 

* * *

Remus has an idea. It probably isn’t a good one, but for some reason, that isn’t stopping him. He knows it will provoke a strong reaction from Sirius, and he is willing to risk it being a negative reaction. Anything to disrupt the stagnation that has settled around them.

The cardboard box he brings down from the attic is coated in a thick blanket of dust. He taps twice with his wand to clear away the grime. It’s unlabeled, because he couldn’t bear to write Sirius’s name at the time he filled this box, but it wasn’t hard to find.

Remus places the box on the coffee table in front of Sirius, who’s marking up a copy of The Daily Prophet. 

“What’s that?” Sirius asks. He sounds like he’s trying to be polite rather than actually curious about the answer.

“Open it,” Remus says, suddenly terrified that this will make Sirius shut down even more. No turning back now.

Sirius looks at Remus with raised eyebrows and pulls the box into his lap. 

Remus takes the armchair across from him. 

Sirius lifts the flaps and reaches inside. He pulls out a faded black leather jacket and stares at it, dumbstruck.

"You _kept_ this?" 

Remus bites his lip.

Sirius runs his fingers over the lapels. "Why did you keep this?"

"Well," Remus starts, trying very hard to keep his voice level, "I hated myself for it, but I missed you."

Sirius doesn't look at Remus. He frowns at the jacket and drops it back into the box, which he returns to the coffee table.

This is not going how Remus hoped it would. "Don't you want to see what else is in there? I don't quite remember, but-"

"Maybe later." Sirius stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets. "I'm going to take a bath." And with that, he strides over to the bathroom and locks the door behind him.

Remus rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. Fine. He probably should have anticipated that. 

He drags the box across the table so that it sits in front of him and takes out the jacket. He brings it to his face to see if it still smells the way it used to. It doesn't. 

Underneath the jacket is an assortment of records from their old collection. It's not all of them, not even close, and Remus wonders how he decided which ones to keep. There's _A Day at the Races, The Wall, Led Zeppelin IV, Remain in Light,_ and _Pink Moon,_ among others. They aren't Remus's favorites, or Sirius's favorites (as far as he can remember), so Remus must have just grabbed a few at random and thrown the rest away.

Remus spreads the albums out on the coffee table. At the bottoms of the box are a variety of letters and photographs. The photo on top is of James and Sirius on broomsticks, showing off. Sirius nearly slips after executing a particularly difficult stunt, and James laughs at him. Remus exhales shakily and places it to the side carefully, reverently. The next picture he picks up is of Lily bouncing a giggling baby Harry on her lap. After a bit of deliberation, Rrmus pockets this one - he'll give it to Harry. When he reaches into the box again, his hand gravitates toward a photo that is face down. The date is scrawled on the back - May 1979. He flips the picture over. It's him and Sirius, sitting on the swinging bench in the Potters' garden. Remus has his arm around Sirius, and Sirius's head is resting on Remus's shoulder as they rock back and forth, unaware that the photo is being taken.

When will this stop hurting so much? 

* * *

When Remus walks up to the house the next day, he finds Padfoot resting in the front garden, eyes closed. Remus questions the wisdom of this, but he can’t begrudge Sirius a bit of outdoor time, especially with the weather as nice as it is today. Remus fights the urge to lie down beside him, never minding the weeds and overgrown rosemary. Instead, he goes inside and takes out the books he brought home from the library for Sirius to read - _A Separate Peace, The Catcher in the Rye,_ and _Maurice._ He isn’t sure if Sirius will like them, but at least it will give them a topic of conversation that isn’t fraught with old memories.

* * *

Sirius has spent the afternoon sampling Remus’s current record collection, which is meager but diverse. Halfway through a Vivaldi record, Remus manages to convince Sirius to play a game of chess. It’s not wizard’s chess, and there are two pieces missing, but Sirius humors him anyway.

“F6 to E5,” Sirius commands. He sighs when the pawn doesn’t move on its own. “I don’t see why Muggles even bother with this.” He moves the piece by hand.

“Well, they don’t know what they’re missing, do they?” Remus slides his bishop across the board.

Sirius moves his queen into a position that threatens Remus's knight, which is part of Remus's plan. But then Sirius takes him off guard: "I just remembered that I used to play violin."

Remus studies Sirius's face. Sirius is looking at the board, but he doesn't appear focused. "How did I not know that about you?"

"Part of the Black family tradition," Sirius says derisively. "I wasn't proud of it. Violin wasn't even my choice."

The autumn after Hogwarts, a slightly battered guitar appeared in the corner of Sirius's flat. He'd bought it at a pawnshop on a whim. Remus was surprised how quickly Sirius picked it up, but knowing what he does now, it makes sense. Remus wishes he had a guitar laying around here for Sirius to play.

Sirius tires of Vivaldi and switches, with a few artful wand movements that he mastered years ago, to _Speaking in Tongues._ "What year did this come out?" Sirius asks as David Byrne starts singing.

"Early eighties." The first few years after 1981 are a blur to Remus. "But I've only listened to it recently." He bought the album just last year. For thirteen years, there were a handful of artists that Remus refused to listen to. They reminded him too much of Sirius and the nights they used to spend together, talking and laughing and smoking and kissing, the music magically amplified. 

"It's your turn," Sirius points out, prompting Remus to move his rook.

Once, Sirius sat down on his bed and serenaded Remus with "You're My Best Friend."

"Thanks," Remus said afterward, face flushed, "but please don't do that again." He found the song choice unsettling. He was not Sirius's best friend, and he never would be. Sometimes he wondered if Sirius wouldn't rather be with James, if he had the opportunity. Sirius was upset about Remus's reaction, but he tried to act like it was no big deal.

Remus is so distracted that he ends up losing the game.

* * *

The full moon is in five days. There's a wooded area nearby that Sirius thinks would be perfect.

"No," Remus says flatly.

"Come on, Moony," Sirius insists, leaning against the back of the sofa where Remus is sitting.

The nickname does something funny to Remus's stomach.

"It would be good to get out and run around for a while. For both of us. Don't you think?"

Remus is reminded of the hundreds of times a much younger Sirius tried to persuade him to do any number of inadvisable activities. He often succeeded - he could be very charming - but not always.

"It's not safe, Sirius." Remus grits his teeth. "You know that."

"I'll make sure you don't go anywhere near any people-"

"It's not worth the risk. I'm done with this conversation." Remus crossed his arms.

"Fine," Sirius says, clearly annoyed. "I'm still coming with you."

"Into the basement?" Remus asks skeptically. 

"Yes."

"It's very cramped."

"That's too bad."

Sirius goes into the kitchen and puts the kettle on the stove. 

Remus is trying to cling on to his irritation, but he's actually relieved to be bickering with Sirius. It's another sign that Sirius's personality is slowly unfolding, day by day, even if sometimes it's one step forward, two steps back.

* * *

Remus gets up in the middle of the night to use the loo. This has been happening more often, the past couple of years. He feels so old already - it's hard to imagine what his body will be like in another thirty years, if he lives that long. 

On his way back to his bedroom, he glances at the living room and notices that no one, dog or human, is on the couch.

"Sirius?" he calls. 

No answer.

Remus finds him at the kitchen table, head in his arms, illuminated by the light of the waxing moon. Remus swallows hard and sits down next to him. He rests his hand lightly on Sirius's shoulder. It's the first time they've touched since that night in the Shack, over a year ago now. Remus meant to hug Sirius when he arrived at the cottage, but Sirius flinched when Remus leaned toward him.

"What's wrong?" Remus asks quietly.

Sirius does not lift his head. "What isn't?" he says, voice hoarse and muffled.

Remus takes a deep breath and pulls Sirius into an embrace. It's easy to feel what loose clothes hide from sight: just how thin he is.

Sirius rests his head on Remus's shoulder. Remus can feel his breath on his neck. Goosebumps creep down his arms. Remus does not want to let Sirius go. He wants to press his face into Sirius's hair and say: _I'm sorry. I'm sorry for withholding affection from you when you gave so much to me. I'm sorry for not trusting you. I'm sorry for letting the distance between us grow. I'm sorry for believing that you let James and Lily die. I'm sorry that I don't know how to give you what you need._ Instead, he releases Sirius and says, "Do you want some tea? I have a nice herbal blend-"

"You should go back to bed," Sirius tells him, wiping under his eyes. And then there is a large dog in his place, looking at him dolefully. 

"Alright." Remus runs his hand over the top of Padfoot's head, then gets up and returns to his room, knowing he won't be able to fall asleep anytime soon.

* * *

After dinner the next day, Sirius puts on _Speaking in Tongues_ again. Remus casts a charm to do the washing up and sits at the table, tiredly making his way through the latest issue of _The Daily Prophet._ Sirius is lounging on the couch reading _Maurice_ and tapping his fingers along to the music.

When the last song on the album starts, Sirius walks up to Remus and holds his hand out. Remus raises his eyebrows, unsure what is being asked or offered.

"Dance with me?" Sirius proposes, hand wavering a little. Remus takes it, heart stammering, and stands up. 

Remus puts his other hand on Sirius's shoulder, and Sirius puts his hand on Remus's waist. They move in slow circles around the kitchen. Remus is unsure if his body is positioned too close to Sirius or not close enough. He's not a good dancer and it doesn't matter. Sirius is humming along, only just audible over the music. The breeze through the window smells of lilacs.

When the song ends, neither of them move away from each other until Remus lifts his hand to Sirius's face and Sirius takes a step back. He looks almost afraid.

"You don't want this," he says, meeting Remus's eyes and then looking over his head. "You don't want me. You can do better. You always could."

Remus grabs Sirius's wrist instinctively. "Don't - don't tell me what I want." He pulls Sirius toward him and kisses him before he has a chance to second-guess himself. When Remus starts to move away - he wants to get a good look at Sirius to gauge his reaction - Sirius puts his hand on the back of Remus's head and kisses him fervently. Remus tastes something he hasn't in so many years: hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Art by @narrowredoubt on Tumblr!
> 
> Title from "This Must Be the Place" by the Talking Heads.
> 
> moonynpadfootforever.tumblr.com


End file.
